Smex Scene Sunday

They’re dangerous men. Absolute enemies. And totally hot for each other.
Two years ago, the men in Will’s unit were killed in an ambush because they were betrayed. Now Will has a chance to go after the corrupt billionaire who sold them out.
One problem: the billionaire’s bodyguard. Nobody knows what he looks like; they only know him by the trail of bodies he leaves behind.

Will their passion destroy them both?
Kit’s a hardened assassin who’ll do what it takes to protect his boss. But when Will moves on the billionaire at an elite party, things with Will and Kit take an unexpected—steamy—twist.
Now Kit has to convince Will to walk away–from his quest for justice, and from the red-hot passion that’s spinning out of control.

I close my eyes, head bowed, shifting occasionally , allowing the water to massage different spots of my body. The stuffiness in my shoulders eases but doesn’t disappear-instead it moves south, taking possession of my dick. I wrap my paw around it and start rubbing one off, long, slow, firm strokes, up and down, tipping my head back to let the water soak my upturned face.

And then a voice says, “Well, isn’t this awkward?” “Please,” he says in his fancy English accent. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Never been much of an exhibitionist,” I say. Yet I don’t let go.

The silence stretches. The heat in the room rises. Builds.

“You should finish,” he says finally.

I know then that he’s come to kill me. I thought it before, of course, but now I know it for sure. One last orgasm, he’s giving me, standing there like Death, Luger resting in his hand, somehow loose and intent at the same time.

My dick should be shrunk to nothing by now.

It’s not.

How did I not hear him coming? Even with the shower running, I should’ve heard—should’ve been ready. It’s because I’m still fucked up over what happened earlier. Over my rookie fucking mistake. I’m so messed up over it, I made another one. My mind races as I try to find some opportunity in this situation. It’s not that I’m scared of dying. Hell, I’m good with dying—go ahead, bring it on. As long as I take Polzin with me.

But now I’m trapped.

The bodyguard’s gaze travels over me, following the path of the water droplets down my body. His lips part, tongue darting out to moisten them in a telltale gesture that amazes me. And it’s right there I see my way out of this.

Him. He wants me.

Heart pounding, I slide my left hand over my balls, caressing the side of them just a bit, just because I can. His gaze drops to where the action is. Just that gives me a thrill so intense, it feels like an electric shock. I take a proper grip of my shaft again with my right hand. Slowly and firmly, I stroke up the whole length, my fingertips dragging slightly on the tender skin.

He watches.

Knowing I can command his attention like that blows my fucking mind. “You left me hanging before, baby,” I tell him, forcing a smile in my voice.

He looks up again, and our gazes meet. He says nothing.

“That was a dick move.”

His lips twitch. “I saved your fucking life.”

“Yeah, but for how long?”

A muscle in his jaw tightens. We both know what this is.

“If your dick’s bothering you that much,” he says, “make yourself come. I can wait.”

I raise one brow. James fuckin’ Bond. “Why? You wanna watch?” My eyes are glued to his, waiting for his reaction.

He laughs, but it sounds hollow. “I have some questions for you—I’d prefer to ask them when there’s some blood flow to your brain.”

Yeah, sure. That’s why his pupils are blown wide and black and his dick is straining against the tight fabric of those stretchy pants he’s wearing.

I don’t point that out, though. I just shrug. “Okay then.”

I let go of myself and reach for one of the little bottles on the shelf beside me, keeping my movements exaggerated and slow. “I like a little something to work with,” I explain, my eyes on him the whole time.

He nods. Licks his lips.

I flip open the lid with my thumb and squeeze some orange stuff onto my palm. It’s thinner than I expected, and it spills over the sides of my hand, running into the water, swirling around my bare feet, filling the steamy room with a tropical fruit scent. I manage to save some in my cupped hand, and I rub a bunch onto my belly, then farther down, onto my cock and balls. I massage my body slowly, trying to make it look good, trying not to feel self-conscious about putting on a big show. This isn’t my kind of thing—not usually, anyway. But right now, my cock feels hard enough to beat fence posts into the ground, and it’s because he’s watching me. Those intent, hawkish eyes are riveted onto my slowly moving hands, following my every move. Yeah, he likes what he’s seeing. I like it too. I like his eyes on me, watching me touch myself. Owning me. I get a strange pang in my belly from that thought—the thought of him owning me.

What the fuck?

Now is not the time to be getting carried away with this. But human bodies—human minds—can be screwy, and for some reason, mine is really getting off on this. I slide my fist up and down my slick, slippery shaft, nice and slow. Water still pounds over my head, and that firehose of a jet is starting to feel like it’s boring a hole into my back. Need to concentrate. Need to make the most of my chances, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than my dick with those amber eyes watching me.